Page 49 of Darro

“If it’s still jammed–” She fell silent as he twisted the jammed latch off with one hand and pulled the panel open. “You’ll break it off, okay.”

Darro stopped and stared across the rooftop toward the front of the castle. “’Tis no watchers on either wall.”

“I saw them when we came up here.” She glanced around and noted the watch towers had also been abandoned. “Could it be another attack?”

He shook his head. “The watchers would have sounded the horn.” Taking hold of her hand, he drew his sword and scanned the shadows slowly before he said, “Stay close to me, lass.”

Night had fallen again by the time Una went to deliver the last of the soiled linen to the laundry. The swifter racing of time made her afraid, so she tried not to think about it, but no one could escape seeing the sky change from dark to light and back again during what should have been a full day. It made her remember that their prison had been created by magic, which might do anything to them, the stronghold, and this small world.

Una didn’t want to die, and thanks to the immortality bestowed on her here, had grown used to not dwelling on that, either. Yet if the magic of the spell trap turned on them, could anyone survive? How would the end come for her?

Badly, she thought before she forced away the dark thoughts.

Located outside the back of the stronghold, the laundry’s open pit fires warmed huge cauldrons of water for washing soiled linens and garments for the clan and their vassals, a task that took long hours each day. Even now two of the maids who worked there were filling the big kettles with water for the morning’s wash. The strong scent of lye soap that hung in the air made Una sneeze a few times, catching the attention of the laundress.

“So they brought you back from the stables, eh?” the older woman said as she took the baskets from her.

She nodded. “Aye, the ladies gave me leave to aid Elspeth with the chamber work. I’ll no’ cause any more trouble, Mistress.”

“I didnae expect you should,” the laundress said. “Your place, ’tisnae out there with those rough lads.”

She could only ever remember being rude to the older woman, so her kind remark made her heart sink. “You neednae pity me. ’Twas what I deserved.”

“I remember when you came to us back in the highlands,” the laundress said. “Your sire, he abandoned you after your mam passed from pox. The headman spoke of sending you to a dairy farm in the midlands that took in orphans, but the laird wouldnae permit such. He claimed your sire might return someday, but I reckon ’twas to protect you from the midlanders. Some were said to be worse than slavers.”

Una had never told anyone about why she’d come to serve the clan, but the laundress had come from her village. “I was too young to ken what a kindness he did for me.”

“Now you see.” The laundress smiled. “Dinnae waste this chance, lass. I reckon you’ll no’ be given another.”

“I shall work hard, Mistress.” She glanced over at the two maids left working. “Do you need more help tonight? I’m finished now with my last task.”

“Och, no, go and rest, lass. My maids, they’re but slow to return from fetching water at the stream.” The older woman bit her lip as she looked at the pair left. “Mayhap I shall go down and hurry them along. Fair night.”

“And you, Mistress.” Una gave her a respectful bob and then walked back toward the stronghold.

Inside she expected to see the guards at their posts, but the interior passages stood empty, which puzzled her. Since the latest attacks the laird had assigned more guards, especially at night when the household slept. She stopped outside the chamber she was sharing with Elspeth, and wondered if she should report the missing guards to the clan’s seneschal. Farlan had not been especially welcoming of her, either.

Something made a skittering sound at the other end of the passage.

“Lass, run.” Elspeth came running toward her, stopped suddenly as if she’d hit some invisible wall, and went slack-faced as she turned around and walked into the nearest chamber. The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound of the bar being dropped on the inside echoed through the empty passage. Then came the muffled sounds of objects being moved, dropped and smashed.

Una took a few steps back, peering at the shadows but seeing nothing at all. Had attackers come into the stronghold? She looked around and ducked into an alcove just before heavy footsteps sounded, growing louder as they came toward her.

Two by two McKeran men passed the alcove, their pale faces like masks and their eyes unblinking. Now and then a maid or a gardener would also go by in the same state. When the last of them went by Una peeked out, and then watched as several doors on the other side of the passage closed, and the sounds of bars dropping and objects being handled carelessly came again. The rest of the pairs turned and walked in the direction of the garrison hall. Had someone enchanted the clan and the household, and turned them into some kind of mindless creatures?

Or if they were slain, then they’ve become slog. Una remembered the terrifying stories her grandmother had told about the slog, which were corpses of those who had been evil in life that rose and sought to murder the unwary innocent. But they looked pale, no’ dead.

She hesitated, knowing that if she went after them they could turn and attack her. She had no weapons or the ability to fight with any; the best she could do was arm herself with a torch—and that would not be enough against the dozens that had walked by her. Fear began making her shake, and then she heard a door open behind her and turned to see Elspeth approaching her with shuffling steps.

I cannae permit the enemy to use the lass. She saved me.

She held the torch in front of her, which stopped the chambermaid in her tracks. “Lass, can you hear me? ’Tis Una.” The dark girl showed no reaction to or awareness of her words, so she lowered the torch. “Can you come with me?” As she started to walk past her Una said on impulse, “I ken what you seek.”

Elspeth slowly turned around and waited.

Una walked ahead of the chambermaid, fighting back tears as she made her way toward the infirmary. She saw no one until she reached the passage outside Ben Miller’s work room, which had been barricaded with hastily mortared brick topped with a row of torches. On the other side of the flames she saw the healer with an odd net made from cloth, and Hunter Ulf beside him with a wide-mouthed jug that he held by the cork. Behind them was another torch-topped wall.

“It’s Els,” Ben said to Ulf as soon as he saw them. “Oh, no. She’s been– Una, have you been bitten?”